I was typing away at my computer, and I noticed the Tominator's raspberry-blowing sound effects growing quieter as he toddled onto the sun porch. "Brrrbrrrbrrr," I heard. It was quiet for a minute, and my mommy spidey sense began to tingle.
"Clink, WOOOSH, (pause) hahahahahaha," echoed from three rooms away.
I was out of my seat in a flash, fast enough to watch my son tipping the remainder of the water in the stainless-steel dog bowl into his mouth. Most of the water, thankfully, was on his shirt or the floor. The very soggy carpeted floor.
I was fast enough to see him put the bowl on his head, but not fast enough to grab the camera before he'd moved on. So I offer the Babies-Gone-Wild Tominator (spring break babes, watch out.)
to resist the urge to let my strung-out dog help with the KP.
Later that evening, as I was cleaning up the dinner dishes, Coltrane decided to help with the prewashing, by licking the surplus food off the plates already stacked in the dishwasher. Normally, this doesn't bother me too much, since the dishes will be cleaned and sanitized once they are put through the wash cycle.
"Chank, ting" went his dog tags against the silverware. It was a peaceful sort of rhythm to compliment the clinking of the glasses as I stacked and carried them to the sink.
Suddenly, the rhythm changed. Cole began trying vainly to pull away from the dishwasher.
"Chankchankchank, tingtingting," went his tags. And then a screech. A crash. Coltrane bolted from the room.
The lower basket of my dishwasher was sitting in the middle of my ceramic tile kitchen floor. A bowl was upended on the floor. Silverware was scattered in every direction. A single dinner plate was split down the middle, the two halves rattling dejectedly as they settled on the floor.
But I'm not angry. That's what I get for letting the mutt who looks like he stayed to long at a Phish concert help with the dishes.
1 Comment:
I need no other lessons in baby-proofing than to check in here.
So glad Tommy is leading the way.
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